[The following is true and accurate to the best of my recollection, and all due apologies to those in the medical profession.]

One day last week I endured my annual physical exam.

I was poked and prodded in places not normally built for such advances. The good doctor didn’t buy me flowers or take me to the movies and yet had his way with me; I feel so cheap.

I got the absolute joy of “filling the cup”, along with all the apprehension that comes with both “Is this enough?” and “It’s going to overflow!”

Then came time for the dreaded EKG. For most people this is not too bad. For me it includes being shaved into a checkerboard pattern so the probes will stick. The EKG was good - I just won’t be involved in any modeling photos for some time.

After this debacle came the “chat” with the good doctor. Basically I’m old and busted, but since I still have a few dollars of health insurance money left he’ll agree to continue seeing me.

The last stop on my morning tour was the Lab: The Land Of 1000 Needles. Since I’m already classified as “old and busted” I get to have an additional 14 pints of blood drawn so that the good doctor will have a better chance of finding something else wrong with me, requiring more visits, and more health insurance money to fund his new office. They drew out enough blood that I needed a transfusion so that they could continue; sort of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?

But the classic line of the day came from the nurse jabbing me with the umpteenth harpoon. She discovered that I have the exact same last name as my Gentle Bride™, who also works at this same medical facility. So the nurse exclaims, “Oh, so you must be Denise’s father-in-law.”

?!?

Father-in-law? I fully acknowledge that my Gentle Bride™ looks great, but do I really look 30 years older than she does? When I’m holding her hand in public do people accuse me of being a child molester? Or is it simply that I’m really that Old And Busted?

I’m not going back. I can have a gaping wound the size of a bowling ball and have worms gushing out of my ears and I ain’t going back to that medical establishment. My buddy at work said he’ll drive me to The Varsity after work where I can have one final chili dog … and then jump off the North Avenue bridge.

Watch the 11:00 news tonight: “Tonight’s Headline on ‘11 Alive’: Old and busted codger with checkerboard body hair and a belly full of chili dogs takes a dive into afternoon traffic. Paramedics had to sweep up a bushel basket of worms gushing out of his ears, but surprisingly there was no blood at the scene.”

Dear Lord, lest I continue in my complacent ways, help me to remember that someone died for me today. And if there be war, help me to remember to ask and to answer "am I worth dying for?" - Eleanor Roosevelt

The ultimate result of shielding men from the effects of folly is to fill the world with fools.-- Herbert Spencer, English Philosopher (1820-1903)

I'm older than BOTH of you, and WILL NOT go to the Dr. unless it's broke or bleeding, and you'll have to PROVE it's broken! Damn Drs. seem to think it's OUR responsibility to pay for their damn motorhome! Screw 'em!!!!!!!!!